


to sleep, perchance to dream

by p1013



Series: Kinkuary 2021 [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, HP Kinkuary 2021, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Roommates, University Student Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: When the posting had shown up in the student paper for a flat—two bedroom, looking to sublet, a quiet and clean student looking for same— Draco thought it was a sign from some benevolent deity, smiling upon him in great beams of light. Draco thought it was salvation.It was, instead, a bed-headed Harry Potter wearing an oversized T-shirt and too-tight jeans andbare feet, and Draco was irrevocably fucked from the moment he stepped across the threshold.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinkuary 2021 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140512
Comments: 36
Kudos: 255
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	to sleep, perchance to dream

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 - Somnophilia

When Draco first decided to attend a magical graduate school, he imagined himself as a learned scholar, a man of intellect and poise. Someone who knew the answers to magics deepest questions, who carefully dismantled spells and magical artifacts to find their inner workings and understand them.

His dreams were painfully shattered when he found himself crammed into small student housing with more roommates than a grown man should have, and late nights and too much cheap Muggle coffee. The dishes were never done, there was always dirty laundry laying about the flat—covering every bloody available surface and sometimes under them as well—and his roommates insisted on smoking inside, even though they were lucky enough to have a landing for the fireplace directly outside of their window.

He hated it.

When the posting had shown up in the student paper for a flat— _two bedroom, looking to sublet, a quiet and clean student looking for same_ —Draco thought it was a sign from some benevolent deity, smiling upon him in great beams of light. Draco thought it was salvation.

It was, instead, a bed-headed Harry Potter wearing an oversized T-shirt and too-tight jeans and _bare feet_ , and Draco was irrevocably fucked from the moment he stepped across the threshold.

Draco has never been one to let himself be led around by his dick. Yes, he is a believer in pursuing and accepting pleasure when it's presented to him, but he doesn't seek it out, and he certainly doesn't make rash decisions based on the probability of getting his dick wet.

But.

He signs the lease agreement with his mind clouded by lust and his eyes transfixed by the way that Potter's T-shirt dips a bit too low on his neck, the delicate line of his collarbone flashing through like a temptation.

And while their first weeks living together had been a careful negotiation around years of shared, antagonistic history, they'd settled into a surprisingly carefree kind of companionship. One that allowed both of them to relax around each other, to find peace while sitting in silence together.

Or, at least, that's what Draco thought. Potter's interpretation was… different.

Though they're living in a (relatively) spacious, two bedroom flat with plenty of room for them to ignore each other, Potter insists on falling asleep everywhere but his bed.

Draco has found Potter passed out on:

The couch.

The armchair. 

The kitchen table.

Draco's bed.

It's intolerable. Not because Potter doesn't deserve rest—his advanced studies in healing magic take a lot out of him—but because Draco thinks he's going to burst into flames if he finds Potter spread out, vulnerable and soft, again.

It's not that he's a pervert or anything. He's never been turned on by someone sleeping before in his life, or at least not to this extreme. There's just something about Potter—there's always been something about Potter—when his mouth is slack with sleep, and the perpetual creases at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead soften and disappear, that makes Draco…

He's in the shower again, his hand on his cock, pulling at it viciously as he fights to not think of the way that Potter's lips part while he sleeps, or the soft, contented sounds he makes as he wakes up from one of his bloody naps. But Draco had come home from his least favourite class with his least favourite professor, and Potter had been sprawled across the couch, one leg fallen to the floor, the other stretched out along the cushions. His shirt was bunched up, and the thick trail of hair falling from his navel to his waistband beckoned Draco to touch. 

With his legs spread wide, Harry's prick was visible through the soft grey of his joggers, and even though he was asleep and unaroused, it was thick and heavy, and Draco did the respectable thing and ran away.

But he can't stop thinking about the shadow of Potter's eyelashes against his cheeks, and the part of his mouth, and the shape of his cock, and Draco's coming over his fist so hard, his stomach aches.

He's really got to stop doing this.

* * *

Draco comes home from study group, and Potter is sitting at the dinner table, hands folded together, head bowed, looking like someone just kicked his Crup.

This does not bode well.

"Good evening, Potter," Draco says. He sets his bag down by the door, kicks off his shoes, waits.

"Malfoy… _Draco_. We need to talk."

Gut clenching, Draco joins Potter at the table, mirroring his position unconsciously. "Well, then. Let's talk."

Potter glances up from under his lashes, his face flushing, and looks away again. "I wanted to… Well, I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Draco did not expect this. "Sorry for what?"

Potter sighs. "For making you uncomfortable. This is your home, too, and I know you and I hashed it all out a month ago, but I can't help but notice that you keep… Well, you keep hiding in your room, and I can't help but think it's because I'm doing something to make you feel… unwanted. Here."

Draco can feel the flush rising from his chest into his cheeks. "Ah. I see."

"Damn it, I knew it." Potter seems to deflate. "I'm sorry. I know you agreed to a six-month lease, but I'm happy to let you break it. If we both agree to it, then there won't be any—"

"That's a problem, though, Potter." The flush is deepening. "I don't agree."

"You… don't?"

"No."

Draco has faced his own mortality more than once. It's somewhat expected after living for almost a year with a creature who was more skin than soul, but it's not something he likes to do often. Looking at Potter, his eyes lit with confusion and hope, Draco does it one more time.

"To be honest with you, Potter, the problem isn't with you. Well, not _entirely_ with you. It's with me and my… response… to you. Specifically, when I catch you… napping."

Potter frowns. "You don't like it when I nap?"

"No." Draco can hear Death knocking, and his hand is on the knob. "I like it a bit too much."

"Too mu—" Potter's eyes go wide, and his face goes bright red. "So, you _like_ it when I'm asleep."

"Don't think too much of it. I've been secluding myself to avoid creating any awkwardness, and it seems that I've ended up doing the opposite. So, please, don't take it personally, Potter."

"It'd be a bit easier if you called me by my name." He pauses. " _Draco_."

"I could… I guess, if you'd prefer, I can do that. Harry." Draco grimaces a bit, which startles a laugh from Pot—Harry's mouth. "It's a bit odd. I'll do my best to get used to it."

"Okay. That's great, Draco. That's great."

* * *

Draco has finished his last exam of the term and is stumbling his way back to the flat after celebrating for the last two hours with his classmates at the local. He hadn't meant to get drunk, but Lee kept sliding shots across the bartop to Draco, and Draco would never contemplate being rude enough to refuse a drink, and well…

Thankfully, he's only slightly tipsy, still cognizant of where he's going and what he's doing. His path down the pavement is a bit wobbly, but that's from exhaustion and a lighthearted sense of relief rather than the alcohol.

He opens the door without any difficulty, humming some half-remembered tune from the pub's radio, and steps inside. There's a light on in the kitchen, but the rest of the flat is dark. He quietly locks up behind him, toes off his shoes, and starts making the careful way to his bedroom. It's across the hall from Harry's, and he doesn't want to wake his roommate up.

It's by pure chance that Draco looks into the front room. Maybe it's a flash of light from the street or his foot stumbling on that one uneven floorboard in the hallway, but whatever the cause, Draco's eyes fall on the darkened expanse of the front room and force him to stop.

Harry is, as always, sprawled across their couch, asleep. But this time, he's down to his pants.

Tight, black pants that show off every lean, long line of his cock and the heavy weight of his balls beneath.

Draco would curse if he had any breath left in his lungs. Instead, his mouth falls open and he gazes, unabashedly, at Harry.

His eyes are closed, and his glasses are nowhere to be seen. Mouth slightly open, he's got one hand resting on his chest and the other on his stomach. His broad, well-muscled chest rises and falls, and his abdominal muscles flex. Draco watches as Harry's fingers curl, just slightly, against his skin, before dragging his glance down the rest of Harry's body.

He doesn't linger for long on Harry's hips—Draco can't handle that—but he lingers over Harry's powerful thighs, the bend of Harry's knees so that his legs are spread wide, and smoothly muscled calves. His ankles are delicate, but his feet are strong and masculine, dusted with hair, the nails neatly trimmed.

Open. Vulnerable.

Asleep.

"Fuck." Draco can't hold the word in any more than he can stop himself from stepping closer. This is temptation, one that he isn't sure he can say no to.

But he remembers Harry's wide, hopeful eyes, the small smile at the corner of his mouth, the _It'd be easier_.

Draco, blood burning and heart aching, takes a step back.

"Don't."

The word makes him freeze.

"You're awake."

Harry's mouth twitches, but he keeps his eyes shut. "Barely. You're home late."

"I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"Draco." Harry's throat moves as he swallows. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams."

Draco takes a few steps back, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he watches.

And he waits.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll leave what happens next to your imagination. 😈


End file.
